


4000mg of ibuprofen

by pianoblack



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Will they won't they?, but only because they are Too Secretive and Repressed, non-vulnerable intimacy, so is it even really intimacy, spoiler: they won't, things not going the way you'd expect, this is a very light M, trapped in a snowstorm, very brief wet dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoblack/pseuds/pianoblack
Summary: oh no declan and adam are tRaPpEd iN a SnOwStOrM and there's OnLy oNe BeD!! whatever will happen???  apparently nothing. because it'sthem.
Relationships: Declan Lynch & Adam Parrish, Declan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	4000mg of ibuprofen

The snow outside the window looks like static on an old tube television and twice as noisy. The brochure described the cabin with words like cute and rustic, with high quality glossy photos of a log cabin bathed in sunlight and a happy smiling ambiguous business man enjoying a cup of coffee at high noon. Adam has parsed through the bullshit and found that cute and rustic equal 75 square feet and forgotten. The windows are barely sealed, letting in a low, constant hiss of frozen air. There's only one bed. There's no coffee maker. But there is a hulking cast iron stove that takes up a good portion of the already cramped space. At least the bathroom has hot water. 

In short: it's bad.

Adam sucks in a breath as he fusses with the soaked through logs and tries to get a fire going. The rain echoes down through the chimney in little gallops that ricochet through the interior. There's no tinder so Adam busies himself trying to tear some of the logs into something smaller. It keeps his shaking hands busy at the very least. His mind still plays the accident out over and over, ever increasing in gore and failure. He hears the snap of twigs and branches and bone.

Declan fumbles out of the bathroom. Part of Adam wants to turn and look, check on him, make sure the tourniquet stayed in place but the the other part of him reminds him that he doesn't have that kind of relationship with Declan. He barely has a relationship with Declan to begin with. They're not friends. They don't talk. They just. Know each other.

Wrong place, wrong time.

Adam can feel more than hear Declan lingering awkwardly in the doorway to the bathroom. The tap is still running in the back. Steam wafts out slowly, making the already humid air thicker. 

"Parrish?" Declan eventually says. He sounds just as painted to ask as Adam is to hear it. "I need - can you help..."

He struggles over the words but Adam isn't sure if it's because of embarrassment or the mystery painkillers they found in the cabinet when they arrived. Either way, Adam can't stand it. He abandons his plans for the fireplace and stands up. Declan is in the doorway with the makeshift tourniquet still slung tight around his arm. The fingers on his broken arm are still speckled with blood, slightly swollen. Declan is a mess.

He gestures around his head with his good hand. "I want all this shit off me."

"I understand," Adam says. He's been trying to spare Declan whatever shards of dignity he can.

It's hard to breathe in the bathroom. Of all the things to be miraculous it had to be the piping. Steam slicks against Adam's skin as he waits by the door. There's barely enough room for the two of them to stand together, unless one of them wants to stand in the tub. Adam isn't sure what Declan's plan is. Declan doesn't look like he knows either. He's standing over the low, unfinished sink (the brochure might have used the word minimalist) and he shakes a few more pills from the mystery bottle and swallows them dry. Declan keeps his eyes on the ground while he settles on the ground by the tub, all the while fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt. Adam watches. It isn't until Declan clears his throat that Adam realizes he hasn't moved from the door.

There's only one thin threadbare towel in the bathroom and even that had been a surprise bit of luxury. Adam straddles the edge of the tub next to Declan. The cuffed bottom of his pants drag against the wet rim of the tub and the water sloshes around his foot. Declan tilts his head back, wincing as he strains to neck back. Adam fills the space with words.

"Do you have a preference? There's unnamed-slash-unscented and whatever this is?"

"Whatever this is, of course," Declan almost smiles but the pain wins out.

Adam soaks the rag and uses it to pour water over Declan's head. Now Adam's never been one to go to church (Robert Parrish shied away from anything even remotely resembling disapproval) but his mind supplies him the image of a baptism. Washing away sins or something like that. Declan blinks his eyes quickly as some of the water drips down his face. Adam watches the little streams of water travel down Declan's cheeks, over the sharp ridge of his jaw, and swiftly along the slope of his neck. The little droplet slows and runs languidly down Declan's chest, lingering long enough to tease Adam's eye before disappearing under Declan's shirt. Adam soaks the rag some more, squeezes it over Declan's head, and the process starts all over again.

Adam squeezes a dollop of whatever shampoo into his palm and rubs his hands together. It smells like vanilla and sunlight and sheets the morning after. He spends too long rubbing his hands together. They don't look at one another.

"Just shut your eyes," Adam suggests. More to himself or to Declan, he isn't sure. Declan obliges either way.

Eventually Adam threads his slicked fingers through Declan's hair, careful and gentle at first. Declan makes a quiet noise in his throat that's all but lost under the rushing sound of the tap. Declan's hair tangles around Adam's fingers in a way that Adam's hair doesn't. Adam has thin wisps of hair and he barely needs to run his fingers through it to get it all when he washes it. This is different. Declan's curls are thick and coarse, practically pulling Adam's hands in deeper and deeper. Adam doesn't fight it.

It's quiet work. Not so bad once Adam keeps his eyes on his hands and doesn't dare to look at Declan. Not in the face, anyway. It's easy from here to spy out the growing purple bruise on Declan's shoulder. His shirt is plastered against skin, leaving nothing and everything to the imagination. The tourniquet seems to be holding up nicely. Adam's proud of himself for that. The rest of it...the rest is hard to see. If only Adam could edge Declan's shirt a little lower. Maybe slip it off his shoulder completely.

With all the shampoo now in Declan's hair, Adam pulls his hands back. He already misses the feel of it. He tries to think of something, anything else while he soaks the rag. Nothing comes to mind. He squeezes it again over Declan's head but with a bit more care to not get any shampoo in Declan's eyes. The water below is tinted ever so slightly pink. Something seizes in Adam's stomach. He cups the back of Declan's head in one hand.

"Lynch," he says quietly. Declan doesn't move. Adam's lips suddenly feel parched. He wets them. "Declan."

Declan slowly opens his eyes and he stares out like he's still in the midst of a dream. Adam watches as Declan's throat bobs when he swallows. It's like watching in slow motion when Declan looks up at Adam. They sit there for a second, the water now cold splashing around Adam's feet, Declan's head cradled in one hand. Declan isn't quite saying anything but his lips are parted like he's just on the verge of saying something. Adam's lips are parted like he's thinking about something else.

He clears his throat.

"You - can you turn your head so I can get the other side?"

Something dawns on Declan and that look of wonder evaporates. Adam can nearly watch it dissolve in real time right in front of him. It breaks completely when Declan shifts his head to fast and smacks his face against the tub. Adam moves too slowly and the two of them are frozen thus: Declan with his face pressed against the wet edge of the tub, a new bruise probably blooming along his cheek and Adam hovering over him, too slow and cumbersome to offer any help.

The water covers up and sounds Adam has of dissent, plucking them up and leading them down the drain.

* * *

There are a lot of different phrases Declan has that he could use in this situation, but none of them imply disaster. Because that would mean that he wants, needs, desires for things to be a different way. If that were the case, then everyday is a disaster. A disaster is a departure from the norm and this is not that. Not at all. And so Declan does not use the term disaster.

So why is he still here drying his hair?

His cheek is tender but it's not so bad. He's felt worse, given worse. Hell, he and Ronan have done far worse than these when they're not even properly fighting. It's stupid anyway. He'd let his walls down. There had been a moment in the bathroom where Declan felt

 _Safe_. 

Valued.

Such a pathetic impulse. His head was fuzzy from the pain killers. From the steam drifting up around them. From the gentle tickle of a scent from the shampoo. It had nothing to do with the feel of Adam's fingertips rubbing little circles right at the top of his spine. That. Is nowhere near relevant to the equation.

Declan tries to throw the towel to the ground but with his weak, broken arm the towel only plops to the ground without a sound. No sense trying to pick it up. He stands atop it as he reaches for the still opened container of ibuprofen on the counter. Briefly he wonders if there's enough steam to melt them into a sludge that he could swallow down all at once, but three little pills drop into his mouth. They dissolve like chalk and he winces but swallows.

Adam is setting bed up with nearly all of the pillows on one side. He notices Declan looking at him, pauses just for a second like a rabbit right before it flees. Declan doesn't feel like a predator right now but with the look on Adam's face he may as well be. Adam shakes free first. Fluffing a pillow unnecessarily and then grabbing a pile of clean, dry clothes from the far corner of the bed. He proffers them to Declan.

"The fireplace is working." Adam gestures like Declan couldn't tell from the growing heat in the room. "I looked through what we had and pulled whatever looked comfortable."

He doesn't say it like he's looking for an apology. Declan would have given him one anyway.

Declan peels out of his wet clothes with his one good arm and he has to stop himself more times than he'd like to admit from asking Adam for help again. It's humiliating and invigorating at the same time and it frustrates Declan, who likes to clean, thick, lines. He's never been one to know which emotion is which and these are all jumbled into one another.

He isn't sure if it's a relief or not that Adam already looks like he's asleep on the bed. His back is to the bathroom and he's curled around himself with a thick sweater, thick pants, thick socks. It can't be comfortable with the fire. He's not watching Declan, though, so at least they don't have to live through that awkward song and dance. Declan looks at the empty side of the bed with the pillows all piled high. He looks at Adam using a balled up jacket and his arm to support his head. He didn't even bather getting under the blanket.

If Declan had the energy and use of his regular limbs he would've immediately protested. There's no point thinking about that, because if he follows it to the next logical step, they wouldn't even be trapped in this storm to begin. He gives himself the grace of not thinking of the alternative and allows himself to settle on his side of the bed. It's hard enough getting in bed with the pain but it's worse as he tries to carefully hold himself apart and away from Adam. He's trying to sneak even just one pillow over to Adam's side when Adam stretches out and turns over. He's still awake.

"It's better if you keep it elevated." Adam returns the pillow to where he had it. He keeps talking so casually, exhausted but still not to be argued with. His hand. It stays rested on the pillow. Adam's fingers tap gently against the soft fabric and it reminds Declan of the gentle way they had felt earlier. Declan is staring and he hasn't hear a word from Adam's mouth.

Mouth...

"Alright. Well." Adam says. It's clipped. But Declan feels like it isn't directed at him. "See you in the morning. I guess."

Adam turns back around curls back into himself. Between the growing fire, the thick down stuffed blankets, and the three layers he's wearing, Declan feels warm. Maybe even feverish. Probably nothing worth worrying about. He checks his shoulder for any new, concerning development, even though he isn't sure what he'd do if he found one. The pills must be kicking in because he can lean into the pillows without much fuss. He shifts, trying to find that elusive comfortable angle, and he can't find it. He breathes out long and slow and wills himself to redefine comfort in his head.

This is fine. This is fine. This is fine.

Shadows flicker across the ceiling and it makes the place feel smaller than it probably is. Like if Declan tilted up his palm he could reach through the ceiling. He can hear Adam breathing slow. It's amazing how quickly Adam had fallen asleep but then again it's been a long day. Declan's never been good at sleeping. It's too warm. An entire side of his body is useless. The weather outside is murderous. He's in a strange bed in a strange cabin with a strange boy. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them just moments later the cabin is filled with warm orange sunlight. Shadows of playful birds twitter across the high, open beam ceilings. A fire glows nearby but it's comfortable. He's comfortable. His arms are working and everything is soft and smooth is silky.

So this is a dream.

His flexes his fingers and he finds them tangled in the back of Adam's head. Declan can feel the soft strands of Adam's hair tickle between his fingers and oh - it's _that_ kind of dream. 

Adam continues to bob his head in Declan's lap; his mouth all warm, slick with saliva, tongue pressing against skin. He doesn't seem to mind that Declan is tightening his grip. He seems to like it quite a bit if the moan as he pressed Declan all the way down his throat is anything to go off. Declan rolls his hips and Adam lets him.

Adam pulls back slowly and sits up. Declan keeps his hands resting on Adam's head and he doesn't want to look at Adam. He can't face him like this not even in a dream. But Adam shifts closer and Declan tilts his head. Adam is looking at Declan intently, cautiously. It all looks so real that Declan has to wonder when he had spent enough time watching Adam that he could recreate his expressions so true to life even in a dream. He cups Adam's face in his hands and presses a thumb into Adam's mouth. Adam doesn't fight it so Declan clasps his other hand around Adam's neck and pulls him in closer. They're close enough now that Declan can feel his own breath on the back of his hand and he can feel Adam's tongue suckling on his thumb with the same gentleness he'd used elsewhere only moments ago. Declan slides his thumb along Adam's lower lip. A bird is singing genially above them. A block of sunlight shines around them. Adam touches his forehead to Declan's, lips slowly coming in like the tide. Declan closes his eyes.

Cold darkness. 

Numbing pain. 

He sits up without thinking, breathing heavily. The fire died at some point and the cold had creeped back in but Declan is sweating either from an oncoming fever or from his own traitorously passionate thoughts. He doesn't know if it's a good thing or not that he's still hard. God, it's uncomfortable but at least he didn't make a mess. He throws the blanket off from him and tries to breathe. The painkillers must have worn off, too. His body is in agony and it screams and protests even the smallest of movements. He forces the air from his lungs like he's trying to expel all of it and maybe never breathe again.

Beside him, Adam doesn't stir as he's still asleep and dreaming whatever normal dreams that probably don't involve Declan. The storm is still brewing just as strong outside. His body calms from shaking to gentle trembles. Sweat cools his skin in the freezing room. He tucks back into his throne of pillows. Swallows down something. Everything.

He blames it all on the 4000mg of ibuprofen.

**Author's Note:**

> the joke is that 4000mg of ibuprofen wouldn't give you horny dreams. being horny would give you horny dreams.  
> let's [discuss](https://stamatis.tumblr.com/).


End file.
